


till we ain't strangers anymore

by sunshinelatte



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, M/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:17:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinelatte/pseuds/sunshinelatte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>coffee shop AU.</p><p>He looks so good Steve just wants to draw him, to sketch the sunlight hitting his face, the jut of his cheekbones and the curve of his jaw, to shade the light stubble sprinkled across his cheeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. but it's harder to be friends

**Author's Note:**

> first ever fic, oh god, I do apologise for the rambliness and general haphazardness of this work. written at 3 in the morning suffering from jet-lag. 
> 
> no beta, all mistakes are the own. and of course the boys do not belong to me (although I wish very much that they did)
> 
> title from Bon Jovi's "till we ain't strangers anymore"

The bell dings, and he turns around from washing cups to face his newest customer, tries not to ogle him, and fails.

“Peppermint mocha, please.”

“Any whipped cream, sir?”

“Nah. Stuff’s too sweet.”

“Name, sir?” “Barnes,” his newest customer says gruffly as he digs in his pocket for change.

Steve scribbles his name (he never scribbles, he usually writes in neat cursive or block letters, he prides himself on legible handwriting, after all, he is an artist. Well, an art student, but he’s on his way. But there’s something about this new customer, this stranger, that gets under his skin and makes his hands just the merest bit trembly, and his breath just hitch slightly) on the cup, hollers the order (and tries not to let his voice crack) before turning to the customer (Barnes, his name is _Barnes_ , what sort of name is that?) and collecting his payment. There’s a slight twist upwards of Barnes’ lips and he nods his head at Steve before pocketing his change and heading to collect his drink.

 

Steve finishes the rest of his shift feeling as though he’s had a mild electric shock or something, like static from dragging his feet on the floor from his rubber soled shoes when he’s too tired from juggling school and work and he can’t be bothered to walk properly, except that this is more pleasant somehow. He puts it down to the generous amount of tips he’s collected this shift, and his mind wanders off to the new face. Barnes. He looks familiar, and yet he can’t place him. He doesn’t remember a Barnes in any of his classes in college or high school. Then again, he’s never been Mr Popular, having been a scrawny asthmatic till recently.

 

Steve rides the subway home, showers, lays out his homework for the day over his dining table and draws. He flips open his art history textbook, and before he knows it, he’s drawing someone’s face idly in the margins of a 2000 word essay on “Visual arts in the history of civilisation”. He hastily scrubs it out and makes a note to type his essays the next time, gives up and goes to bed.

 

He dreams of falling, with schoolyard bullies above him, punching and kicking him till he can’t breathe. Suddenly, there’s a shout and they stop. He wakes up in a sweat, wondering why he’s having these nightmares after so many years. No one would pick a fight with him now.

 

**

 

“Professor Danvers, wait!” She turns to see Steve running after her, waving a stack of papers in his hand.

“So sorry Prof, I had problems printing my essay, the printer was going crazy and –“

“You typed your essay, Steve?” Professor Danvers raises an eyebrow at him. “I never thought that day would come. Everyone gives me typed essays, except you. Always handwritten, with coffee stains and cancellations all over the place. Can’t say I’m not pleased though.”

Steve blushes. “Well, I thought it was about time I learnt to use a computer properly, Ma’am.”

She waves him off with a laugh and continues down the hall. “It’s a good improvement, Steve.”

 

He turns, only to bump into someone in obnoxious shades. “Well, if it ain’t Stevie boy! Got time for a drink before work? Me and Pep here were gonna grab a Coke and sit by the lawn to enjoy some sunshine!” He gestures at the pretty strawberry blond next to him and flashes a blinding grin.

Steve finds himself grinning back at his old friend. “Sure, Tony, always got time for ya.” “Sure don’t feel like that, Stevie boy, you always runnin’ off to that job of yours. I could lend you money you know, like a no-interest scholarship or something, so you wouldn’t have to work. And don’t say I haven’t offered cos you know I have,” Tony peers up at him over the tops of his obnoxious shades and Pepper nods emphatically next to him. “It really would make your life easier, Steve. Plus, it’s not like you wouldn’t pay him back.”

 

Steve shakes his head. He appreciates it, he really does. But he wants to learn to stand on his own two feet, and taking anything from Tony feels like he’s cheating. He likes his job and he likes his customers. If he doesn’t say anything about Barnes, well, Tony doesn’t need to know. Besides, for what it’s worth, he may never see Barnes again.

Tony slings an arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulls the three of them out into the sunshine.

 

 

**

 

Steve is tying on his apron at work when he spots a familiar figure come through the doors. Black leather jacket, worn jeans and combat boots.

“Peppermint mocha, sir?” he grins at the customer. Barnes.

Barnes’ mouth quirks upward as he nods his head. “You’ve got a good memory, pal.”

“Well, you made an impression, what can I say?” the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, his cheeks flushing. He looks down at his till and wills the flush to go away. _Shit_.

To his surprise, he hears Barnes say,” Always the one thing I was good at.”

He pulls himself together and looks up, catching a quick smile from Barnes as he drops the change into his hand.

 

 

**

 

 

Barnes quickly becomes a regular to the Starbucks after that. Steve learns his mannerisms, his smiles, his hand gestures (always his right hand, he never uses his left, it’s usually shoved into his pocket).

 

Steve tries not to ogle him too openly from the counter, and he thinks he’s doing a good job of it until Clint sidles up to him and nudges him. “If you stare any harder, Rogers, you’re gonna burn holes into his face.” Steve blushes a desperate shade of red, embarrassed at being caught out. “Am I that obvious? I thought I was being stealthy.”

 

Clint near guffaws at that. “Nat, didcha hear that! Rogers thought he was being stealthy!”

Natasha turns to glare at Clint. “Shhh, we’ve got customers, don’t go disturbing their peace.” She turns to face Steve, wiping her hands on the towel. “You’re anything but stealthy. All of us here can see you making puppy eyes at him, so why don’t you do us all a favour and go ask him out?” She flicks a towel at him and points to the clock. “Oh look, it’s time for your break.”

Clint smirks as he pulls at the strings of Steve’s apron and shoves two drinks in his hands. “There you go, be a good boy now and listen to our manager.”

Steve suddenly finds himself pushed outside the counter, two drinks in his hands. He glares over his shoulder at Clint, who looks as though he’s trying not to laugh, and Natasha, who levels him with a steely-eyed look. He takes a deep breath, and summons up every inch of courage he has before walking over.

“Is this seat taken?” Barnes turns his face to him, a small smirk breaking out over his features. He looks so good Steve just wants to draw him, to sketch the sunlight hitting his face, the jut of his cheekbones and the curve of his jaw, to shade the light stubble sprinkled across his cheeks.

“Nah, you can sit.” He kicks out the chair he’s been using as a prop for his legs for Steve.

Steve folds himself in, and pushes one drink across. “Compliments of the house.” He tries not to blush as he says that, watching Barnes’ grin slowly light up his face.

“Thanks. Need it after all that physiotherapy.” He yawns as he reaches for the drink.

“Physiotherapy?” Steve tries not to sound as though he’s prying.

“Yeah, physio. Busted my arm in Iraq serving during the war, can’t feel much after all the surgeries, physio’s supposed to make it better.” He laughs bitterly. “They’re worse than the sergeants I ever had in army, all demanding and ruthless.”

“Oh, sorry to hear.” Steve is at a loss for words. He takes a long sip of his coffee and wishes he had words.

Barnes shakes his head. “Nah, don’t be. Nothing to do with you anyway. How ‘bout you? You studying or what?”

“Studying, art history at NYU. This is a part time job to pay the bills and rent.” Steve wishes he had something more interesting to add about his life, to say to Barnes.

“Art history, huh. Not art. You draw much?” Steve wants to tell him, wants to tell him about all the times he has drawn Barnes’ face from memory, all the times he’s wanted to kiss the stubble and those lips, to imagine those eyes twinkling at him. But he doesn’t dare to, so he says,” Occasionally.”

Barnes stares at him for a long moment from beneath his dark lashes. He takes a sip of coffee before he says,” Would be nice to see your drawings. I like to watch people draw.”

“Maybe I’ll call you along next time I’m headed to the museum,” he feels the beginnings of a flush creep up his neck.

Barnes grins as he scribbles his number on a napkin and shoves it across the table. “Call me then”

 

They chat, and Steve only realises that his break is 20 minutes over when he’s done with his drink and glances at the wall clock. “Oh shit, I gotta back back to work, see you around?”

“Definitely. And the name’s Bucky.” Bucky. _Bucky. Bucky._ He wants to say it into his skin, wants to trace it with his lips, wants to murmur it into his mouth.

 

 

**

 

He dreams of falling, with schoolyard bullies above him, punching and kicking him till he can’t breathe. Suddenly, there’s a shout and they stop. He turns to see where the shout comes from. It’s a boy, taller than he is, with brown eyes and a cocky swagger. Before he can see the rest of the boy’s face, he wakes up.


	2. let's put our two hearts back together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> broken coffee machines and feels.
> 
> Bucky grins, and it’s blinding. It lights up his whole face, reaches his eyes and they crinkle at the corners, his mouth curving in the way that makes Steve want to kiss it. Steve is head over heels in his crush for Bucky Barnes, and he thinks Bucky Barnes might feel the same way too, judging by that smile. Steve is also pretty sure that he’s sporting a similar goofy stupid smile on his face too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ughhh, I blame sirona entirely for encouraging me on with this. it was supposed to be under 1K of fluff and then it morphed into I don't know what, the swamp thing.
> 
> written entirely on my own, no beta, I blame my jet lag still and the sheer amount of arses on tour de france that i'm ogling.
> 
> title from Bon Jovi's "till we ain't strangers anymore"

Steve wrestles with the coffee machine, which has decided to give up and go rogue on him just as his shift starts. He yelps as the steamer sprays a hot jet on his arm and stares at it balefully, hating all technology. Maybe he could get Tony to fix it, Tony's a genius at this sort of thing and surely it would be easy for him to wrestle with the machine?

He's lost in plotting how to trick Tony into helping him, so much so he doesn't see the familiar figure walk in.

“Penny for your thoughts, buddy?”

He near jumps out of his skin at the deep voice, and then flushes. Damnit, he has to stop flushing so easily every time Barnes, no _Bucky_ , is around.

“Hey. Nah, just that the machine's broken, and i'd hate to disappoint all the customers.”

“Like myself?” Bucky quirks an eyebrow at him and flashes a cocky grin.

“Well, you and everyone else,” Steve smiles back. “Plus, it scalded me in the process.” He rubs at his arm ruefully, not missing Bucky’s smirk in the process. He turns to hoist the “temporarily out of order” sign onto his shoulder to set up at the entrance before Bucky can say anything.

Thankfully it's a slow day with not much business. Bucky follows him, and Steve has the sneaking feeling that Bucky's ogling his ass as he bends down to straighten the signboard. The mere thought of it sends another blush flitting across his cheeks but he forces it down as he turns around to apologise for the lack of coffee today.

Bucky beats him to it though, and says,” Maybe I could take a look at the machine? Might be able to help.”

Steve stares at him with badly disguised hopes in his eyes. If Bucky could fix the machine, he could go back to serving customers, he could avoid Natasha’s steely cold stare, he wouldn’t have to bribe Tony, and well, he could bring Bucky out for dinner to thank him, you know, cos it was only polite to thank people for helping him.

He must have taken too long to reply, or maybe there was just too much hope in his eyes, that Bucky punches him lightly on the shoulder and says,” Hey pal, don’t go lookin’ at me like I’m some guardian angel. I’ll make ya no promises. ‘Sides, I want my coffee so it works both ways.”

Steve lets out the breath he didn’t know he’s been holding in, and beckons Bucky behind the counter. Bucky shrugs off his leather jacket and Jesus, Steve can see the scars all along his left arm. Long marks, crisscrossing. Some raised, pink and new, others pale and faint; his left arm looks a lot smaller and wasted compared to his right. He wants to touch them, he wants to draw them all and find out the story behind each scar. He wants to know them all intimately.

Bucky catches him staring and shifts uncomfortably. “Rogers, you wanna stare at my disgusting arm or you want to help me fix this machine?” He starts to pull on his leather jacket again, self-consciously.

Steve grabs at Bucky’s left arm and he turns to stare at him in surprise. Steve drops it like an opened grenade.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, did I hurt you, I was just surprised at the extent of it, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, it’s not disgusting at all, I ‘m so sorry I’m so sorry-“

His rambling is cut off by Bucky’s punch to the shoulder again. “Shut your mouth Rogers, and get over here.” He leaves the jacket on the back counter and turns to the machine.

So as it turns out, Bucky is some kinda whiz with coffee machines after fixing up machines and guns and whatnots during the war in Iraq. Even with one hand.

Clint arrives for his shift and his eyebrows almost shoot off his forehead when he sees Bucky behind the counter with Steve, belly down on the floor tracing the wires to their connection. He lets out a loud cough and Steve looks up. “Sorry sir, the machine is spoilt –“

“Yes, I know, Steve, I saw the sign. The beautifully lettered sign at the entrance. “ He jerks his head towards Bucky and raises his eyebrows again. Steve shrugs his shoulders and explains, “He offered to help in return for a free coffee, who was I to refuse?”

 

Clint shakes his head and mouths, “Ask him out” with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows before he heads into the staffroom to get his apron, just as Bucky climbs up from his place on the floor and dusts off his hands on his jeans ( _his criminally tight jeans, Steve’s lizard brain thinks_ ).

 

 “I think I’m done, buddy, give her a go?” he pats the machine.

“Wait, why is it a her?” Steve wants to know.

 

Bucky turns to him with a faraway look in his eye. “Most machines and weapons are female, soldiers’ wives and all that, y’know? My rifle used to be called Natalia. Black, sleek and deadly.  I trusted her when I trusted no one else.”

 

Steve knows Bucky’s lost in his memories of the war at this point and turns his attentions to the machine, wanting to give Bucky some space. To his surprise, it whirs to life gently, the steamer being well-behaved this time.

“Looks like you owe me that coffee after all, pal.” He can hear the grin in Bucky’s voice as he turns to whoop with joy and just about stops short of hugging him, settling for a light punch to his shoulder (always the right shoulder, mind) instead.

 

“Coffee on the house for the hero of the moment!”  Clint joins the whooping, tying his apron. He shoos Steve and Bucky out of the counter. “You boys sit down, let me test it out by getting you guys drinks. Dying to try new flavours, y’all can be my guinea pigs, I want to try this new awesome thing called ‘Pumpkin Latte’, you’re gonna love it -”

 

Steve is hardly in any position to argue, and he’ll take whatever chance he can get to spend time with Bucky, who’s shrugging on his jacket with some difficulty. Steve watches in fascination as his body undulates a little to fit his left arm into the jacket.

Clint hollers that their drinks are ready, and Steve feels eyes on his ass again as he walks to collect them. He likes that feeling, and God, he wants more. It’s strange Bucky should make him feel this way, he’s never been _this_ attracted to anyone before.

“So, how can I repay you for saving my sorry ass today? Can I take you to dinner?” it sounds too forward, even to his ears and he hopes to hell he hasn’t interpreted the signs wrongly. ‘Cause he badly wants this, and he’s beginning to think Bucky wants it too.

“Nah, don’t do dinners, have to be at hospital early for my physio sessions.”

Steve’s face falls at the news, and he tries to keep his stomach from doing a 100 foot freefall into the bottom of the river. He clutches at his cup tightly and looks down, cursing himself for being such a stupid idiot, because, God, he’d definitely read the signs wrong and-

Tentative fingers wrap around his tightly clenched cup. “Maybe you can bring me along when you draw instead. You never called me.”

 

Steve nearly gets a whiplash injury from looking back up so fast, to see the nervous look on Bucky’s face mirroring his.

“I, I –“ _Very suave_ , his lizard brain tells him. He licks his lips and swallows, voice coming out more steadily now. “I would love to. This Saturday? And I’m buying you lunch. ”

Bucky grins, and it’s blinding. It lights up his whole face, reaches his eyes and they crinkle at the corners, his mouth curving in the way that makes Steve want to kiss it. Steve is head over heels in his crush for Bucky Barnes, and he thinks Bucky Barnes might feel the same way too, judging by that smile. Steve is also pretty sure that he’s sporting a similar goofy stupid smile on his face too.

 

His fingers reach out and tangle themselves into Bucky’s, who squeezes back.

 

**

 

He dreams of falling, with schoolyard bullies above him, punching and kicking him till he can’t breathe. Suddenly, there’s a shout and they stop. He turns to see where the shout comes from. It’s a boy, taller than he is, with brown eyes and a cocky swagger. The boy runs at the bullies, swinging his fist, and they scatter. The boy turns to him, face hidden under the brim of a cap, and says, “Jesus, pal, that looks bad. You just don’t know when to quit, do you, kid?”

“I can do this all day,” Steve spits out a mouthful of blood as the boy stoops to help him up. He wakes up before he can see his face, again.


	3. it's time you let me in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He feels a warm hard on his shoulder as he settles back down, and then Bucky’s peering up at him from the floor, all concerned eyes and a guilty look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired partly by Not gonna reach my telephone by haku23
> 
> The art in question is from MOMA, The River by Maillol. 
> 
>  
> 
> as always, the boys don't belong to me :(
> 
> un beta-ed. all mistakes are my own
> 
>  
> 
> title from bon jovi's till we ain't strangers anymore

Steve whistles as he ties his apron strings, feeling cheery. He usually hates Friday night closing shifts, they were busy, he was tired after a long week of school, there were a million other things he’d rather be doing like starting on his homework, having dinner with his mum or tony, catching up on his sleep, or drawing.

A smile crosses his face as he thinks about drawing, he’s been anticipating meeting Bucky tomorrow at the MOMA. (If he’s honest with himself, he’s thought about little else all week.) He doubts he’ll get much work done on his project, and reminds himself to bring a camera just in case so he can still work on it at home.

“OY! Rogers, quit dreaming and get out here! My bladder needs a break,” he’s broken out of his reverie by Clint shouting. He hastily shakes his head and heads out after clearing his thoughts.

The shift goes by fairly uneventfully, with a decent-sized crowd of regulars, which makes it easy for Steve to handle their orders. He waves goodbye to the last group of stragglers to leave and sets about mopping the floor while Natasha brings the money to the counting machine in the back room. His thoughts drift off to wavy hair, and brown eyes, and he’s grateful when Natasha shoos him out of the shop and locks it up.

   
**  
 

Saturday morning dawns bright and early, the weather cool and sunny, as though encouraging him on his date. Was it a date? Does it even count as a date? He ponders over this while staring at his cupboard. Everything he has is too old-fashioned and outdated, checkered shirts and Dockers khakis. He sits on his bed, puts his head in his hands, and groans. Why couldn’t he have thought to buy other clothes? For once in his life, he wishes he’d never listened to his mum and taken Tony’s advice instead.

He gets to the MOMA five minutes before they’re due to meet up and stands by the wall, looking at the crowd as they swirl past him and into the giant doors. He’s just about to whip out his phone and text Tony out of boredom when he hears heavy footfalls approaching him. Bucky.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late, got a little lost.”

Steve is pretty sure he has a stupid smile on his face. Bucky showed up. Bucky is here. Bucky is on a date with him. Well, maybe not a date, but he’s going out with him, isn’t he?

“Hey. Nah, don’t worry, it’s okay. Didn’t wait long.”

He blinks the nervousness away and pushes himself off the wall, meeting Bucky’s brown eyes with what he hopes isn’t an overly enthusiastic smile. Bucky matches his smile as he flicks his head towards the doors. “Shall we?”

“Sure thing. After you.” Steve holds open the door and gestures Bucky in, making sure to squeeze his art case in carefully.

They get to the exhibit Steve’s been wanting to see, The River. Bucky sucks in a surprised breath as he lays eyes on the sculpture for the first time, of a woman writhing violently, as though twisting away from something. She hangs over the pool, not moving, but you can sense the energy and emotion of the piece. 

“Maillol created this in the period around World War Two. It was initially meant to be a woman who was stabbed in the back and falling.” 

“Yeah, can I can imagine that. The arching of her back, surprised look on her face, the awkward position.” Bucky’s eyes have that faraway look again, and Steve knows he must be reliving his own battles.

He clears his throat gently. “Well, I’ll just be over there drawing. Feel free to wander around.” He picks up his art case and heads to the marble bench in the corner, where he has a good view of the sculpture and the light playing off it. Bucky stays where he is, the faraway look still present. Steves takes a few pictures, and sets to work, lost in concentration and the familiar feel of charcoal scratching paper.  When he next looks up, Bucky’s gone. Steve swallows his panic as he looks around for a familiar leather jacket through the crowd. Just then, his phone beeps.

   
Bucky:  
Sry, lost smwhr near the museum gift shop? Gimme a few  
13:45 Oct 12  
 

Steve:  
It’s okay, take your time. Museums are meant to be explored  
13:46 Oct 12  
 

Steve tucks his phone back in his pocket with a relieved smile and returns his attention to sketching the curve of the sculpture’s breasts, trying to get them right. He’s entirely absorbed in his work as he frowns and squints at the lines of charcoal.

“Never took you for a boobs man.” He hears a familiar voice over his shoulder and starts, narrowly avoid smudging his charcoal.

“Oops, my bad, sorry Steve, didn’t mean to scare you!” He feels a warm hard on his shoulder as he settles back down, and then Bucky’s peering up at him from the floor, all concerned eyes and a guilty look. 

“Jesus, Bucky.” Steve scowls and swats at him. 

“My bad, my bad. Sorry! Did I ruin it?” he looks at Steve’s drawing worriedly.

“Ah, don’t worry about it, it’s safe now. Coffee shop gave me super human reflexes.” Steve teases, stomach turning to goo at Bucky’s concern. 

That still does little to ease the worried frown off Bucky’s face, so Steve suggests grabbing lunch as a welcomed distraction after 3 hours of drawing. Bucky nods. “But only if you let me pay for nearly ruining your drawing.”

They bicker over who’s treating as they leave the museum, and find a small diner 4 blocks away around the corner of the 57th street. 

They settle into a corner booth as the perky waitress arrives at their table.

“Hi! My name is Darcy,” she points to her nametag pinned above her voluptuous chest and Bucky kicks Steve under the table with a shit-eating grin. Steve goes pink and kicks back, but Bucky’s already tucked his feet under his seat, safely out of reach. 

“Our special today is Steak frites, which I wouldn’t really recommend cos you both look hungry enough to eat a horse, so maybe try the Cheeseburger Deluxe! We’ve been voted ‘Best Burger in New York’ by the New York Magazine,” She beams proudly as she flips the menu and jabs a manicured finger at the photo. “I’d also definitely rec the Chicken Pot Pie since it’s our most popular item!” She winks at them and Steve thinks, god, how is she so perky? But her perkiness is a welcome change from the usual dour faces.

Bucky flashes her his most charming grin and says, “Well ma’am, you’re right, I’m hungry enough to eat a horse and I’m sure Stevie here is too. I’ll have the Cheeseburger since you spoke so highly of it. Steve?” 

“Cheeseburger’s good too, thanks.”

“Maybe a Pot Pie to share?” She raises her eyebrows hopefully. “Trust me, you won’t regret it!”

Steve finds himself grinning back “Sure. And two coffees?”

They nod in unison and she leaves.

Steve takes a sip of water and places his glass back on the table, only to find the shit-eating grin back on Bucky’s face. 

“Boobs man, eh?” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Steve goes pink again. “No, I am most certainly not. You’re the one who was charming the pants off her!”

“Hey buddy, I wasn’t the one who agreed to her chicken pot pie!”

Steve sticks his tongue out at Bucky, he knows it’s a childish and immature thing to do, but he can’t help himself. Bucky answers with the same gesture and they both burst out in giggles, trying to quash them so they don’t end up disturbing the whole diner.  
 

“Coffee’s here! Aannnnnddddd your pot pie!” Darcy sets it down with a flourish. She leans across the table conspiratorially. “Anyone told you guys you are absolutely adorable together? Cos, take it from me, you are.” She flounces off with a wink.

“Adorable, huh.” Steve finds himself boggled by their waitress yet again.

“You heard her. Adorable it is.”

And Steve finds Bucky reaching out to pinch his cheeks in yet another childish gesture before he slaps Bucky’s hands away and shoots him a glare. 

“Thought you were hungry.” He huffs.

Bucky shrugs and picks up a spoon. “Couldn’t pass up on the chance to tease you.” His eyes twinkle as he looks back at Steve.

They finish their meal in relative peace, wander around the streets for a  bit and part company at the subway.  
 

Steve’s barely gotten home when his phone buzzes.

   
Bucky:  
Thx for a great day  
20:35 Oct 12  
 

Steve can’t keep the ecstatic grin off his face as he quickly replies.  
 

Steve:  
I had a good time too  
20:36 Oct 12  
 

Bucky:  
Promise I won’t ruin yr art next time  
20:36 Oct 12  
 

Steve:  
Don’t sneak up on me again and you won’t  
20:36 Oct 12  
 

Bucky:  
Lol sure thing. Gna sleep soon, physio tmr, u hv a gd day  
20:37 Oct 12  
   
Steve:  
Enjoy your physio, don’t work too hard, good night  
20:38 Oct 12  
 

He’s pretty sure he’s grinning like an idiot as he strips off and heads into the shower. It’s been a damn near perfect day.  
 

**  
 

He dreams of falling, with schoolyard bullies above him, punching and kicking him till he can’t breathe. Suddenly, there’s a shout and they stop. He turns to see where the shout comes from. It’s a boy, taller than he is, with brown eyes and a cocky swagger. The boy runs at the bullies, swinging his fist, and they scatter. The boy turns to him, face hidden under the brim of a cap, and says, “Jesus, pal, that looks bad. You just don’t know when to quit, do you, kid?”  
“I can do this all day,” Steve spits out a mouthful of blood as the boy stoops to help him up. He turns to see the boy’s face, and he wakes up with a start. _Bucky_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is taking far longer than i expected. the fic is practically writing itself. 
> 
> comments are much beloved!


	4. sometimes it's hard to love me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Tony says Steve is ridiculously in love and Steve denies this.)
> 
> (Clint insists Steve is ridiculously in love and Steve also denies this.)
> 
> (Natasha just gives Steve knowing looks that he can’t quite shrug off.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what i'm doing anymore!
> 
> un-betaed, all mistakes are my own. written late at night after a crappy day of work 
> 
> title from bon jovi's till we ain't strangers anymore

_“You say you’ve cried for a thousand rivers”_ Steve wails along with Bon Jovi as he gets ready for yet another day. 

It doesn’t stop him from glancing hopefully at his phone. There’s been no texts from Bucky the last few days, and he hasn’t been coming into the coffee shop either (not that he’d been pimping Clint or Natasha for info, absolutely not). He was seriously considering taking up Tony’s offer to hire a detective to hunt Bucky down, or to report him as missing, just to put himself out of his misery. But he wasn’t sure if Bucky would appreciate the sudden intrusion of privacy, and well, his phone WhatsApp did show him as being ‘online’ from time to time (not that he’d been staring at it, absolutely not).

 

If he lets himself think about it, it’s quite amazing how Bucky fits into his life quite effortlessly. Coming by the coffee shop after his physio sessions, Saturday sketching at the museum, strolls through Central Park, texts throughout the day. Steve has memorised the details of Bucky’s jawline, the faint scar over his left cheekbone, the way his hair curls over his forehead, the way he gets a five o’clock shadow when he’s been lazy to shave.

_  
(Tony says Steve is ridiculously in love and Steve denies this.)_

_(Clint insists Steve is ridiculously in love and Steve also denies this.)_

_(Natasha just gives Steve knowing looks that he can’t quite shrug off.)_

 

He grabs his art folio off the table, shrugs on his jacket and heads off, firing off a quick text to Bucky with hopes he’ll reply. He’s on the subway when his phone buzzes in his pocket and his heart does a little leap when he sees a text from Bucky and he ignores the fact that he looks like a sad sack for being so eager.

 

Bucky:  
Hey sry. Been busy. Text u soon.  
07:43 Nov 2

 

Steve:  
Okay, good to know you’re alive. Had me worried!  
07:44 Nov 2

 

He shoves his phone back into his pocket and feels a teeny bit lighter. That text still doesn’t answer the questions of Bucky being missing. Or his lack of updates. Bucky’s usually the more reticent of the two of them, but he never fails to text Steve daily at least. Steve frowns as he steps out of the subway, thinking of his long week ahead. Projects due, his annual checkup at the hospital, his dad’s upcoming death anniversary. 

 

He’s making his way across the campus when he hears a familiar voice call out to him,” Hey Stevie!” 

He knows it’s Tony before he even turns, catching sight of those obnoxious aviator shades (seriously, who wears aviators at 8 in the morning on an autumn morning?) and waving. Tony jogs up to him and deals him a hearty slap on his back. 

“Any news from lover boy? Should I be calling the detective now?” Steve hears the underlying concern despite the teasing tone of Tony’s voice.  
“Nah,he replied me this morning. Thanks for asking though.”

“Ah, he replied you? We can track him down! Y’know, using his GPS and all that, give me your phone!” Tony makes a grab for Steve’s phone down his khakis’ pocket, blabbering a steady stream of what seems to be technology babble to Steve but makes perfect sense to Tony.

Steve swats Tony’s hands away and huffs, “I’d prefer to give him some privacy, Tony.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and your noble intentions. But what if he’s been kidnapped or something and he can’t reply you?”

Steve feels his blood go cold at that thought. “Surely not?” his anxiety must show on his face as Tony holds up his hands defensively. “Just sayin’ , Rogers. Always good to be careful, y’know? Plus, I was thinking it wouldn’t hurt to spy on your lovey-dovey texts to each other.” There’s a familiar smirk on his face that makes Steve feel irritated yet comforted at the same time.

“Never happening, Stark.” Steve grins as he waves good-bye to Tony and heads towards the Art building. 

 

He bumps into Professor Danvers along the corridor and greets her.

“Hello Steve. Hope you’re preparing for the assignment? It’s due by the end of the week.” She arches an eyebrow at him.

“Yes ma’am, it’s coming along nicely,” he says, telling the truth. He just needs to check it against his camera stills and look it over under studio lights before spraying it.

She gives him an appraising look. “I expect nothing less than excellent work from you, Steve. Now don’t disappoint me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it ma’am.” Something about her almost makes him want to salute her but he hastily quashes the thought as she clicks her way down the hall.

 

** 

Steve manages to show up at the hospital right on time for his bloods to be done. After enduring a student nurse jabbing at his arm painfully and missing twice, he makes his way to the Xray room where he dutifully strips and puts on the hospital gown (backless as usual, but at least he gets to keep his pants on this time). 

However, the queue is spectacularly long and he can’t quite ignore the call of his bladder. The queue for the toilets is just as long so he wanders out, past the physiotherapy department to use their toilets. He’s on his way back when he spies a familiar looking figure in a wheelchair. Bucky? 

He pauses dead in his tracks and stares. The figure is wearing a similar backless hospital gown to his own and has his right arm in a sling and cast. There’s an iv drip hooked up to his left arm and he’s slumped in his wheelchair despite the physiotherapist’s coaxing.

 

Steve steps into the room hesitantly. “Bucky?”

Startled, the figure’s head snaps up and he finds himself meeting familiar brown eyes. “Steve?” 

Steve crosses the room in large strides and kneels in front of the wheelchair. “Oh my god, Bucky, what happened to you? Is this why you didn’t reply me and haven’t been showing up? You had me so worried!”

Bucky averts his gaze and stares at his hands instead. “Yeah, I had problem texting.”

“Well, you could have called me! I was thinking of going to the police!”

“No one said I had to report to you,” Bucky snaps back.

Steve is stunned into silence. He takes a deep breath and straightens up, placing his hands on Bucky’s knees. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m going to get my Xrays done, then I’m going come back. Will you still be here in 15 minutes?”

“Probably. If not they’ll bring me back to ward. Tower A, Ward 7 bed 8.” Bucky still won’t meet his eyes. 

 

Steve pats Bucky’s right shoulder gently as he leaves. 

He lets out a sigh of frustration (or relief, he can’t really tell at this point). He obediently does the Xrays and changes, glad to be out of the backless hospital gown. 

Bucky’s not there at the physiotherapy department when he goes back, so he pops by hospital gift shop on the way up to the ward.

The sheer array of flowers boggle him and he has a momentary panic attack. _Will Bucky even appreciate flowers? Will he think I’m a complete sap? Are we even that far along in this relationship to give each other flowers? He didn’t even tell me he was in hospital! Is this even a relationship?_

He eventually settles on a stuffed bear in a blue jacket. Keeps better than flowers, at any rate, he decides.

Stepping into the ward brings back a flood of memories for Steve. The bustling nurses, the beeping machines, the harried doctors, the sterile smell that pervades everything. He makes his way to bed 8, a double room. Bucky’s sitting on the bed by the window, cradling his right arm in his lap, a forlorn look on his face as he stares out of the window. 

Steve is struck by how lost he looks, instinctively comparing him to the gruff Bucky in his mind. 

“Hey, Steve.” Bucky turns. 

“Bucky. Got you a bear, thought you might like some company.” He holds out the stuffed bear as a peace offering. 

 

A shadow of a grin flits across Bucky’s face as he reaches for the bear with his disfigured left hand. “Thanks. He got a name?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m horrible with names. I’d probably end up calling him ‘Bear’ or something.”

Bucky smiles, and it’s an improvement. Steve sits at the foot of his bed and picks at the bedsheet nervously. “So, you okay?”

“Yeah.” Bucky takes a deep breath. “Remember I’m ex-army? So I stay in vet housing. The last Saturday we went to the MOMA, I was on the way home when I was surrounded by a group of thugs. In short, I got beat up, broke my right arm, had a concussion and ended up in hospital. They fixed my arm but I need a repeat brain scan to monitor the bleeding.”

“Jesus, Bucky.” Steve covers his mouth, horrified. 

Bucky looks away. “The thugs actually called me a fairy, a queer, a good for nothing soldier. They might have beaten me to death if my neighbours hadn’t come out and shouted at them.” He hangs his head. “I didn’t want to tell you because I wasn’t sure if I could live with you knowing. Or being dragged into this. The Army may have gotten rid of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’, but that doesn’t mean that army guys can’t be homophobic dicks.” 

“Bucky.” Steve moves over to sit in front of him and slowly gathers him into a gentle hug, making sure to avoid his right arm. 

When he looks down, Bucky’s lashes are wet with unshed tears. He reaches out and brushes them away. “It’s okay, we’ll get through this together. Somehow. “

Bucky’s answering smile is sad and wavering. “You could always find someone better, Steve. Someone who isn’t damaged. Someone whom the world would actually respect. Someone who doesn’t have a disability pension. Someone who can work a regular job instead of having treatment daily.” He looks set to go on when Steve presses one finger to his lips and shushes him. 

“I’m lucky to have you, Buck. Why shouldn’t the world respect someone who gave his all fighting for his country? You’re a war hero, that’s what you are. And America should well help you get better after all your sacrifice.” 

 

Steve’s speech is interrupted by the dinner trolley appearing in the room. 

Bucky turns to Steve as the health attendant leaves. “Would you mind helping me with dinner? If you’re busy I can always wait for the nurse to come.” His cheeks are red with embarrassment. 

Steve feels his heart clench. Seeing Bucky like this reminds him of his long stays in hospital back when he was a sickly child. Afraid, alone and quite helpless. 

“You don’t even have to ask.” He chides gently as he moves the cardiac table up the bed and opens up the food. 

“Yeah, some people would get squeamish. But I guess you’re clearly in touch with your feelings, buying me a bear and all.” He brandishes the stuffed bear at Steve, who laughs.

 

** 

Steve makes it back to his apartment late that night after visiting hours are over. 

He dreams of falling, with schoolyard bullies above him, punching and kicking him till he can’t breathe. Suddenly, there’s a shout and they stop. He turns to see where the shout comes from. It’s a boy, taller than he is, with brown eyes and a cocky swagger. The boy runs at the bullies, swinging his fist, and they scatter. The boy turns to him, face hidden under the brim of a cap, and says, “Jesus, pal, that looks bad. You just don’t know when to quit, do you, kid?” 

“I can do this all day,” Steve spits out a mouthful of blood as the boy stoops to help him up. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up. You look like you need some food and a wash.” _Bucky._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clearly, steve is a bon jovi fan because I am
> 
> and if the hospital scene is too detailed, that's my job hazard 
> 
> comments much beloved!


End file.
